


Three of Chalices

by Turtle_ier



Series: Drinks Among Other Things [2]
Category: History Boys - All Media Types
Genre: Attempt at Humor, Bisexuality, Crushes, Developing Relationship, Multi, oh my god they were roomates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-08
Updated: 2020-07-08
Packaged: 2021-03-05 02:41:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,022
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25147150
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Turtle_ier/pseuds/Turtle_ier
Summary: Akthar's moved on and up in life. He's got an apartment, a job, and no longer has six different crushes. He's much more sensible now, and has settled on only having two.
Relationships: Adil Akthar/James Lockwood/Fiona
Series: Drinks Among Other Things [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1821691
Comments: 6
Kudos: 8





	Three of Chalices

Time passed, as it does, and Akthar woke up on his thirty-fourth birthday and got ready to go to work. 

On Thursdays, as it were today, Akthar was teaching history at 11am and media studies at 2. But for now he was in the office at 8.30 in the morning in the middle of February, with a cup of tea held in both hands, and he diligently read through the school’s list of ‘to-do’s, ‘must-do’s and ‘oh-god-do-right-now’s. 

The previous headmaster, Felix, had retired a couple of years ago, and Mrs. Lintott had done so too the year after, partly because she didn't like being the new headmaster and partly because she was able to retire. If Akthar had the choice of retiring now he would have - dealing with children and other people’s stresses was hardly his strong suit - but there was something very appealing about being the headmaster of his old school, and the other lads seemed to agree.

Akthar didn't feel powerful, but ‘smug’ had been checked a thousand times over. The other boys (or at least those who he still kept in touch with) were very much pleased that he had replaced Felix, even if they were a little upset that he had to replace Mrs. Lintott as well.

The office had a different style of carpet compared to the one it had when he was still a student, but it had been replaced with one of the same sickly off-green colour (probably on account of the many spilled coffees as Dakin barged in without knocking). He had no idea why they had gone with the same colour, as it contrasted greatly with the cream coloured walls and dark wood furnishings. The right wall was covered in three bookcases, although not all of the wall was hidden as they didn't quite fit, and each shelf had a collection of important looking books and a few awards the school had won over the years. He may have been rather young compared to some headmasters, but Akthar didn't hang around wondering if he was good enough. The awards spoke for themselves. 

Then, the door to the office opened.

“Good morning, Mr. Akthar,” Fiona said, her arms filled with various bits of paper and her handbag slipping off her shoulder. He stood to lend a hand.

“Hello, Miss Proctor. Here, let me.” He took the heavy binder of registers from her hands, letting her unlock the door to the other office and following her through. She ignored the use of her ‘professional’ name, since it was almost like an in-joke to them.

“It’s bloody cold this morning,” She said, dumping her rain-soaked coat on the hanger behind the door, “I ended up walking. Some idiot up the street drove their car into a set of traffic lights, knocking the whole system near my place out.”

“I walked in too, though thankfully before the rain started.”

“I suppose that's the one advantage to getting up before the sun shines,” She teased, delighting inside at the way he hung his head a little to hide the rising blush. Eighteen years later and she still somehow managed not only to accomplish a blush but revel in its rewards. 

“Oh! That reminds me,” She reached into her purse and rummaged around a little. He resisted the temptation to look into the bag and see what she was trying to find, but then she pulled out a small box. “Happy birthday,” She said, grinning. 

“Fiona, you didn't have to…” Akthar pulled at the little ribbon that surrounded it, abiding the ‘keep upright’ message on the side, even though he desperately wanted to shake it. While the box wasn't wrapped, a thick piece of red ribbon was wrapped around the outside. 

“I know it’s not much, but I hope you still like it.”

He pulled the box open, and inside there was an abnormally large chocolate cupcake, with some small white chocolate stars littering the top. He smiled at her and said, “Thank you.”

“It’s no worry,” She said, voice airy, “Now come here. I saw your mum on the way in and she asked me to give you this, since she won't be seeing you today.” Fiona then rested both her arms on Akthar’s shoulder, and leaning forward as to not disturb the cake and to actually reach his face, she kissed him on the cheek. 

The temperature difference between his skin and hers was staggering, and if she hadn't been careful it may have even burned her with how flushed his cheeks were, although Fiona may have just been colder than usual from the rain. She drew back, admiring the somewhat visible pink mark on his cheek. Only when her heels clacked on the wooden floor did he snap out of it. 

“I-” his voice cracked, then he cleared his throat, “Thanks. I’ll, uh-” He gestured to the door that led back through to his office. 

Fiona was already unlocking her desk and getting ready for the day, “Sure. You have a meeting with Mr. Beedle at ten. I put it on your calendar.” She smiled at him before he left, going back to her tasks when he gave her a stilted one in return, and she didn't look up when he responded to her. 

“Thank you, Miss Proctor.” And with that the door slid shut behind him. 

As soon as the latch clicked she went to pick up the phone on her desk, pushing each button on the keypad without looking and holding it up to her ear with an easy confidence that was only acquired when someone felt like they had won. 

“ _ Hello _ ?” the voice filtered through the phone, half asleep. 

“Anthony. It’s Fiona. Your plan has been set into motion.” 

A cheer came through and Fiona couldn't stop herself from grinning, admiring the way her smile reflected rather nicely in her nail polish. 

With his hands full of papers, Akthar kicked the front door open and then shut, stepping over the collection of mail on the doorstep to dump everything on the coffee table: essays to mark, worksheets, information about the new English department (it hadn't been updated since he had been studying there. Why did anyone think that plaster flaking off the walls was normal?), and the box Fiona had given him with half of the cupcake still inside. 

Sighing, now with the weight lifted from his shoulders, Akthar went back to the pile of mail and gathered it, then brought it all into the kitchen. He poured himself a glass of wine and stowed the bottle back into the fridge for later. It was only Thursday, after all. He could save the rest for tomorrow.

His flat, or house depending on how you looked at it, was modest to say the least. He hadn't gone for the biggest place he could afford, unlike Dakin, but the two bedrooms, the kitchen/dining room, and the living room were more than enough to suit one person. The windows, though only on one side of the house and facing the building opposite, let in a lot of light, and such was a luxury in a terraced house. 

He’d painted the walls a light blue since moving in, and the floors were a dark wood which made an unnerving snapping sound with almost every step. The living room was a decent size, but the kitchen area on the other side of the room was barely two metres square, with only enough space for two counters - one of which was unusable on account of the toaster, kettle and rice cooker taking up the whole space. The tan-coloured couch underneath the windows looked worn and in need of replacing, like Akthar had bought it second hand, and while the coffee table also looked like it had belonged to someone else before, it was of good quality and with only a few scratches on the table top. 

With the pasta he’d cooked yesterday in the oven, Akthar dragged the letters back over to the living room and flicked through them, taking a sip of wine as he did, before one pale blue envelope caught his attention.

He stopped. 

Handwritten letters were not something received often, these days, especially with mobile phones and email coming into play. Phones were actually starting to become usable now, and even he owned a Nokia, so surely the letter was made for either nostalgia, or was from someone that knew his address and not his phone number. If it were anything more urgent then they would have called.

But he recognised that handwriting from somewhere. It was hard to put a face or name to the penmanship.

Gently, as to not disturb the contents inside, he slid the envelope open and pulled the single sheet of paper out to read.

_ Dear Adil, _

_ Long-time no see! It’s Lockwood, in case you couldn't tell from the handwriting. Even if you didn't know it was me, I’m sure you're aware that I’ve been sofa surfing my way around our mate’s places as of late, partly to check them out, and partly because I haven't found a place of my own yet.  _

_ Up until now I’ve been staying with Scripps and Posner, but as I’m sure you're aware they’ve finally given up on the whole ‘we’re not having sex’ thing because as of late they’ve been going at one another like rabbits. They said it was okay for me to stay, and that they don't mind, but to me it’s a message. Loud and clear. _

_ I know this is a lot to ask, and you know I wouldn't ask for it if I had somewhere else to go, especially since I’m certain you have a love life of your own, but I’m desperate. In Bath the house prices aren’t cheap, but I know somewhere that’s cheaper - Sheffield. I’m not going to beat around the bush - I’m planning on moving back there and looking into getting my own place, and I was wondering if you wouldn't mind me staying with you for maybe a month while I get myself sorted. If you're renting or have a mortgage or whatever, I don't mind paying half of it with you.  _

_ It’s alright if you can't, since this is very out of the blue, but I thought I would give this a try before selling my soul to a bedsit. Here’s my mobile: _

_ 00000 000000 _

_ Give me a call! Even if you can't help me out with the house stuff, it would be great to keep in touch.  _

_ Lots of love (Don’t tell Timms I said that), _

_ James Lockwood.  _

He read the letter, and then stared into the corner of the room before reading it again, trying to find even an ounce of dishonesty or jest in the words but he failed to find any. There was just a phone number and a cry for help.

He snatched up his mobile, dialled the number, and raised the phone to his ear.

Akthar had made worse mistakes in his life than inviting someone he may or may not have fancied in school to live with him. 

“I’m sorry I couldn't do this on a Saturday or something. Scripps said he could only help pack yesterday.” 

“It’s alright,” Akthar said instantly, shoving the door to the second bedroom open with his shoulder. He didn't realise up until now how unkempt it looked, with a thin layer of dust on every surface and the bed without any sheets. Lockwood didn't seem to notice or mind, instead putting the cardboard box down and going back down the stairs to get the next box from his car. 

Akthar took this opportunity to do a whirlwind clean - opening the window to let some air in, getting a cloth from the bathroom and wiping the desk and shelves, and looking in the wardrobe for some clean linen. 

“You have a really nice place here,” Lockwood mused, and Akthar couldn't help but feel envious of how he was unfazed by the three flights of stairs up to the apartment, because even though Adil had been there for about two years now, he still wasn't used to the climb. “It’s way better than the hole in the ground that Timms has.” 

“Is he still in that basement? God, he’s really got to move up in the world. Literally.” 

Lockwood laughed, coming over to help get the bed together. “I agree. The mildew creeping out of the bathroom is a sign to move on if I’ve ever seen one. I don't get why he stays. He has the money.”

“I think he just can't be bothered.”

“Actually, yeah. That’s probably it.” 

“What was that thing you said in your letter, by the way? Have Scripps and Pos finally got their act together?”

“Not quite.” He admitted, “They fucked when I was out, and refused to speak about it. And then it happened again. I wasn't up for staying after the air turned blue from the arguments.” 

“Jeez. I thought they’d be perfect for one another.”

“They are. Just not yet. Pos is still dealing with all the…” he waved his hand around the side of his head, “That.”

“Well I hope it works out for all our sakes. If anyone could kill through sulking alone, it's Scripps.” 

Lockwood laughed, and there was a brief pause in the conversation as they wrestled the duvet and its cover. Then Lockwood picked up on something else from his letter.

“I know that I asked you this in the letter, but you don't mind, do you?”

“No, of course not. I've got the spare room, so might as well, right?” 

“Right. I was just worried your girlfriend might not like it.”

“My girlfriend?”

Lockwood looked up, and met Akthar’s confused face. “Oh. Never mind.”

“No, no, what gave you the impression that I’d found someone?”

“Well, Timms said.”

“What?” 

“Um.”

“What did he say? I haven't spoken to him in four years, Lockwood.”

“He implied that one of the regulars at the bar knew you and was interested in making a move.” He finally admitted, “I thought they would have by now.”

“Who?”

Lockwood’s face twisted.

“Jimmy.”

“Mate, I don't-”

“James.”

“Oh don't James me, you know-” 

“Who was it?” 

“I don't know who they were! Apparently They know you well enough to mention you by name.” 

His face scrunched up, thinking about who could possibly be a regular at the same bar that Timms went to.  _ The Eagle  _ was hardly in his way, so it was probably someone that he knew him outside of the pub. 

“I’m sorry I brought this up mate,” Lockwood rubbed his neck, showing off an annoyingly perfect view of a thin sliver of skin. “Can we go back to complaining about Scripps and Posner? I can tell you about that time Dakin was over and had to leave on account of them making too many eyes at one another.” 

For now, he supposed, his interrogation would have to wait. 

“Good morning, Fiona,” Akthar said, absentmindedly. He was too focused on the terrible screen quality of the computer to look up at her.

It was a cold but bright Monday morning, and Akthar could hear the school kids swarming in and making noise from outside his window. They were evidently pleased at the small amount of snow that had fallen overnight, based on the yelling across the courtyard and even louder shouts from Mr. Ditton, the teacher on duty, telling them to knock it off. 

“Morning,” Fiona said in turn, pulling the stack of papers out from under her arm. “Mr. Collins called in regards to his son about transferring here. Are you alright to meet them later in the week?”

Akthar looked up from the monitor and flicked through the calendar on his desk. He hummed, then said, “My Tuesday morning is free between ten and eleven?”

“I’ll email him about it. I think that's everything, unless you need me to do anything?” 

He leaned back in the old leather chair, thinking for a moment about the happenings in the school and if she needed to do anything about it. He concluded that she didn't, but then his mind wandered to the conversation with Lockwood, and he found himself speaking without really meaning to. 

“I don't think there’s anything in regards to work...” His voice trailed off as he realised that he implied there was  _ something _ she could do for him.

“Oh?” She said with a smirk, cocking her hip in the doorway, “What do you mean by that?”

All of last night he had thought about that snippet of conversation, and even when he’d been occupied with other things like the TV or the Chinese takeaway, he’d been thinking about this mysterious woman who apparently knew him by name but Lockwood didn't know of. Timms would know, but he and Timms hadn't talked in four years, which led to the conclusion that it must be someone he either worked with or had known at uni.

“This is a little awkward to ask.” He watched Fiona’s smile widen. “But, I uh, need you to do something for me.” 

“Sure.”

He seemed taken aback, “You were pretty easy to persuade.”

“I aim to please.” She walked to his deskside, one foot in front of the other in an obvious display of confidence. “So what can I do for you?” 

“Like I said, it’s a little… awkward.”

“I’m sure you can tell me. It always takes a little time for the best of us to warm up.”

“I’ll just blurt it out, yeah?” He took a breath, still not looking her in the eye, “Lockwood said that Timms said someone at  _ The Eagle _ fancies me, but he doesn't know who it is. They mentioned me by name, which implies that they're someone I would know of… like an old uni friend or someone who works here.”

Fiona blinked at him. “What?”

“Someone fancies me, I think. I don't know who it is, but I think it could be one of our staff. And I’d appreciate it if you would try and find out for me who it is.”

“Oh. Okay. Is that it?”

It was Akthar’s turn to blink at her. “Yeah.”

“You were implying something… you know…”

“No?”

“Well, no use dwelling on it!” She flicked her hair, “I’ll see what I can do.” 

“Thank you, Miss Proctor.” 

“You're very welcome, Mr. Akthar.” And with that she swept out of his office, dumped the stack of papers onto her desk and grabbed the cushion off her chair and proceeded to scream into it. 

_ Men,  _ she thought,  _ will never cease to amaze me. _

She snatched up the phone and dialled a familiar number. It was unfair to suffer alone. 

“The botanical gardens said that they’d take me on.” Lockwood said, gathering another wonton onto his plate. The TV crackled in the background, a show Akthar didn't recognise and didn't really care for playing quietly for them to not-really watch. Outside it was dark, but he’d taken the liberty to turn on the standing lamp to make his marking a little easier to do.

He swallowed his mouthful, “That’s good. I didn't realise you were the outdoors type.”

“I have been since the army. Back when my granddad was still alive he let me plant bulbs in his garden and mess about in the bushes. I think that I got it from him. I’m sure that it’ll come back quickly.”

“Definitely not shy of hard work then,” he teased. 

“The physical aspect of hard work I don't mind. Your kind of hard work wouldn't be for me.” He laughed, “I can't decide what would be worse - the parents or the kids.” 

Akthar looked to the stack of papers on the floor, already covered in red ticks and crosses, and the occasional scribble of criticism. “It’s got perks. Even the older staff don't question me anymore. Some of them are still there from when we were there.”

“Is Mrs Crow still there? How’d you win her over?”

“I was friendly. She had a go at me for a bit, but as soon as she saw that the kids liked me and that their grades were good she didn't mind so much. Good words wear off on others.” 

“I remember her well. French?”

“Yeah.”

“Taught German? And Spanish after school?”

“The very one.”

“Well fuck me, Akthar, is she still as much of a cow as she was to me?”

He laughed, “She likes getting her own way. She’s not too bad once you know her.”

“I’ll have to take your word for it. How did you even get to headmaster anyway?”

Akthar put down the pen, knowing that this would take a while. 

“I did a teaching course when I was still at Oxford, thinking about the future since I didn't know what I was doing after. Initially I worked for this shit hole in Cambridge, and while it wasn’t fancy but the area wasn't cheap so I was hoping to move on. When I saw an opening here I applied. Apparently Felix wasn't pleased to see my name tick all the boxes, and if Totty hadn't stepped in then I'm sure my application would have ended up in the bin. She was the head of history so she put a good word in, and so I moved up here. I could tell how pissed off Felix was when he was showing me around again. I’d been there for about five years when he left and Totty took over the school, and I became head of history. she set me up to be headmaster from there.”

Lockwood whistled. “That’s quick.” 

“So was I, apparently. Or at least that’s what Totty said as reasoning. Fiona still says she preferred Totty though.” He laughed.

Lockwood didn't make a sound, his gaze instead focused entirely on Akthar. The old TV popped. “Fiona still works there?”

“She’s technically my secretary.” 

“Technically?”

“Well, she takes the year 7 art classes on Wednesday and Friday when Mr. Thomas is taking his mum up to the doctor’s. She’s not trained in it, but she’s getting a formal arts degree at Sheffield College. Their night school program.” 

“Oh. Cool. And you two get along?”

“Sure. She calls me an idiot sometimes but it’s usually well deserved.”

“Sounds like she’s flirting, mate.”

Akthar choked on his drink. “What?”

“It sounds like she’s flirting with you. With the teasing.”

“No! No. There’s no way.”

Lockwood’s face turned from teasing to exasperated. “What? Why?”

Akthar sputtered, “She’s, you know- and I, I’m just, um. She’s not - There’s no way.” 

Lockwood raised an eyebrow in response. All of a sudden Akthar felt very small, like he was his sixteen-year-old self and was discovering another horrible, no-good, very bad, incredibly awkward body. Not only was it the sudden hot flush called a realization that Fiona, a very attractive woman who was a good foot taller than him in heels and liked to wear pencil skirts, was potentially flirting with him, but it was also the cold rush called a realisation that Lockwood looked very flattering in a vest, loose trousers, low light, and with a slight stubble. It was like being punched in the stomach, or the swooping feeling inside when you miss the last step on the stairs, or both at once. 

“What?” Akthar said, dumbfounded. He’d completely lost track of the conversation.

“Why don't you think Fiona could be attracted to you?” 

There was a pause. “I just, you know - Felix. Why would she want another boss that flirts with her?”

“You're not quadruple her age, for a start. Isn't she like two years older than you?”

“Well, yes, but-!”

“But that means it’s not nearly as creepy as it was when Felix was literally going for a grope. You’ve got to be  _ subtle _ . Tell you what; when you go in tomorrow, complement her on something small, like her necklace or her nail polish. If she compliments you back it means she has at least some interest in seeing you outside of work, even if it’s just in a friendly way.”

“Lockwood,  _ no-” _

“Why not? It’s your ticket in!”

“Into what??”

Lockwood looked gobsmacked, “What do you mean ‘into what?’ Akthar, you're just like Scripps right now, you realise that, right? You have eyes trained on everyone, seeing exactly what they're doing without realising what’s going on! Look, mate, just- Give it a go.”

And with that he turned back to the television and stuffed another fork-full of noodles into his mouth, dropping the conversation like a lead weight. Somehow, even though he didn't think that he had done anything wrong, Akthar still felt as if he had. 

That night, alone in his bedroom but with a person (assumedly) asleep on the other side of the hallway, he let his hand stray under the covers; his mind filled with a dangerous mix of lust, guilt, and confusion.

The other hand, cold from the February air, clasped over his mouth to stop those emotions from slipping free.

“Morning,” Fiona said to her neighbour, bringing out the black bin from the side of the house. The neighbour nodded to her but said nothing, disappearing through their door.

It was a frosty, overcast and dreary day, and if she didn't know better she would say that within the next two hours it would start to rain. The weatherman on the BBC had said so, the weatherman on ITV had said so, her own mother had said so, and that meant that she would say it so too. There was no faulting the logic of the professionals when she wouldn't be out in it, seeing as she was just leaving to head to work.

But then, leaving through the front gate and onto the street, the past bumped into her. 

“Oh, Christ, sorry-” a familiar, albeit deeper, voice apologised, holding her by the arm to stop her from colliding with the icy floor, “I was totally in my own world there.”

“Oh, it’s ok. Nothing like a fall to wake someone up,” said Fiona, somewhere between snarky and comedic, but her annoyed expression fell when she recognised the face of the person she was speaking to. “James? Lockwood?” She gasped, “What the fuck?”

“Oh shit. Fiona. I didn't realise it was you!” Lockwood’s face broke out into a grin, the corners of his mouth practically reaching his ears. “Here, let me-” He used his shirt to clean the pavement dirt off her hand, wincing when he caught sight of the scrape on her palm. “Fuck, I didn't mean to bump into you like that. I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine, really. I should look before I go out the gate, I usually do. How have you been? It’s been, what, sixteen years since we last saw one another?” She pulled her hand back, adjusting the strap of her handbag on her shoulder and then reaching to fix her skirt. 

“Around that, yeah.” He put a hand on his neck, and she couldn't help but notice how his muscles shifted beneath the thin T-shirt and open jacket. “How have you been?”

“Not too bad. It’s been pretty much more of the same - same job, family, etcetera. And you?”

Lockwood blew out a breath, looking up the street. “It’s gone by so fast, but a lot has happened.” He laughed a little, “Oxford, army, been going around the country looking for a more permanent place to stay and wound up here again.” 

She smiled, albeit a little sadly. “Are you with your mum again? If you need to I have a spare bedroom-”

“Oh, no. I’m with Adil. Or Akthar, depending on how you remember him.”

Her eyes lit up.

“Oh really? I didn't know, which is odd considering he’s technically my boss. Although no one really bosses me around. Did Adil mention that?” 

He laughed a little, still not really making eye contact. It was probably a good thing that he wasn't however, or else he might have noticed her looking him up and down. “Sort of.”

“That sounds ominous.”

“Nothing bad! He said you still worked at the school, but not a lot else. I thought you may have been teaching since I remember you saving up for Uni.”

“Uni’s off the table now. I’m doing higher education, but not university. What about you? How are you spending your time?”  _ Other than exercising _ , the less subtle part of her brain supplied, but that was quickly quelled. 

“I just got a job at the botanical gardens, actually, but until then I've mostly been recovering. Did you hear about…?” His voice trailed off, but she knew what he was talking about and so nodded. “Yeah. That. It still aches sometimes but nowhere near as badly as it did when I first got out of there. The scars are the worst part. They make my skin feel tight.”

“It must be awful.” She reached out and put a gentle hand on the offending shoulder. “If you like you can come in for a cuppa. Get out of the cold for a little bit.”

“Don't you have work?”

She smiled, “I’m sure Adil won't mind if I’m a little late. I’ll send him a text. Besides, it’ll be nice to catch up.” 

Lockwood raised an eyebrow at her. “‘Catch up’?” he repeated, “If I didn't know any better I’d call that a euphemism.”

Her smile turned cat-like. “Maybe it is. I’m not as shy as I was when you were in school. At least, not anymore.” 

Lockwood knew, deep down, that he shouldn't do this. He should tell Fiona that he wasn't interested, even though he was, because Akthar had pretty much admitted to having feelings for her the night before. What also contributed to the feeling of unease was his own hidden emotions towards his friend, while subtle, were undeniably there. 

But if this were to be a one-off thing, was it really a problem? It wasn't as if Fiona was proposing that they go out on a date, far from it in fact, and he was near-certain that if they both acted sensibly then it wouldn't come to a boiling point. They were adults; he was thirty-four and she was thirty-six, and neither of them were getting any younger. A one-time, mutually agreed thing wouldn't put spanners in the cogs.

So he placed his own hand on her own and said, “Lead the way.”

“Good morning, Fiona. I hope your mum’s cat is feeling better.” Akthar smiled at her as she came in. 

“Morning to you too. Donald is feeling a lot better,” She smiled as he suppressed a chuckle at the cat’s name, “He went and swallowed a fridge magnet. Apparently it’ll just need to pass through, thankfully, so no unpleasant things are necessary. It just gave me a scare when I saw him retching.” 

“I suppose that’s the issue with your mum being away, no one to keep an eye on the naughty thing when you're not at the house. Anyway, back to business?” he paused and she nodded for him to continue, “One of the students, Alex Peterson, I believe, left his doctor’s note on your desk.” She smiled and turned to leave, but his voice called her back. “Oh and Fiona,” He paused, almost nervous, “I like your hair. It looks nice down.”

For a moment she said nothing, blinking at him, and his insides shrivelled at the thought of doing something to her that she hadn't wanted, as Felix would have done for all those years in this position, but then her smile lit up the room. 

“Thank you! I was worried no one would notice the haircut. I like your tie too, it matches your eyes.” And she breezed out, her absence in the room deflating him instantly. 

He leant back in the chair, clutching at his tie in an attempt to calm his rapidly beating heart. “Fuck,” he whispered. Her smile had never seemed that bright before now. “Shit,” He said to the room when he realised who had put those thoughts into his head. 

At home, in the safety of his own apartment and alone, he all but tore apart the bookshelves in search of those shitty love-glazed notes that he had written at the delusional age of sixteen about all but one of his classmates.  _ There should be five _ , he thought, flicking through a shit copy of John Keats’ work before dropping it at his feet to lie with the others,  _ Where the fuck is it. _ A copy of ‘Peter Pan’, then ‘Jurassic Park’, and a never-opened copy of ‘Heather and Velvet’, all joined the floor. 

He knew that if someone walked in on him now they would think of him as insane, but in his insanity that didn't matter - what mattered were the horrific, very bad, very not good notes that might as well have been a modern form of chemical warfare with how potent with hormones they were. Chemical warfare that was specially tailored to cater to his demise. 

“-The fuck is it,” he spat, pulling ‘Jane Eyre’ and flicking through. 

And in a moment of monumental luck, he grabbed ‘Les Misérables’ and his fingers caught loose paper. 

Eight sheets, handwritten on lined paper, were pulled free and instantly shoved into his shirt to hide them, making sure that even in the milliseconds that they were exposed to air that they wouldn't see the light of day. He hurried to his room and closed the door behind him, pulled the papers from his shirt, and shoved them under the mattress. Finally his shoulders slackened, releasing the tension that had held them for the entire workday. He could breathe again. 

The front door unlocked.

“Mate, what the fuck.”

The tension was back with a vengeance. 

“Uhm,” His voice broke, “One second!” In mad scramble, he dragged the storage boxes out from under his bed and put a few of the books from his desk inside, then pulled free the door. “I didn't know you’d be back so early!” He laughed, strained. Lockwood was examining the pile of books on the floor like a hawk, stepping over the few that didn't quite make it on the mountain.

“Mate-” he began again.

“Yeah! Uh. Funny story. I was sitting at the table and was getting angry at how full the shelves were! Ha ha, so I just, you know, pulled a few free, and a whole  _ bunch _ of them came down! Really annoying, let me tell you, but I thought I’d make the bad of a, uh, bad situation, and put them into storage! I have boxes, um, under my bed. I was going to sort through them and put them there. For safekeeping. Yeah.” 

Lockwood said nothing for a moment, letting Akthar stew in his own anxiety. “They fell?” 

“Yeah.”

“I didn't think they were packed in so tight.” He wondered. 

“Yeah! Well, I didn't really either. They caught me out, falling at me like that!” 

“Do you want help?”

“What?” 

“Do you want help? Putting them away?” Lockwood went to the table and put down the shopping bags, ignoring how one fell over and let a tin of beans roll onto the surface. “It seems like you’ve got quite the pile of literature to go through there.”

“Oh! Um, sure! If you’re up for it.”

Lockwood smiled, “Okay, you keep going and I’ll put these away.” The tin of beans fell onto the floor, but Akthar didn't notice. 

Two hours, a quick meal, and another hour later, the bookshelves were a lot less strained and instead they were shoehorning the remaining books into the two boxes under Akthar’s bed. 

“Why do you have three copies of ‘The Hobbit’?” Lockwood asked, “Why do you need three?”

“Two of them were gifts.” Akthar gritted his teeth and shoved one in alongside a hardcover of ‘The Colour Purple,’ “And the other was in a charity shop and I couldn't just leave it there to die.” 

Lockwood snorted, “Someone else would have taken it.”

“Yeah, someone that rips the pages out.”

“That’s the last of it though,” he wiped his brow with his sleeve, “Finally.”

“I thought we’d be here all night,” Akthar joked, “And sitting on this floor has made my arse go numb.”

“Mine too,” Lockwood laughed along, “Feels like Uni all over again.” 

Akthar lied down on his back, his legs still half crossed from when he’d been sitting. Then the words caught up with him. “What do you mean by that?”

Lockwood slouched, “You know,” he gestured, “Fucking.”

“But your arse though?”

“Well, Adil, when two men love each other very much-” 

“I get you. I get it.” He giggled, “I just didn't realise you were into blokes, is all.”

“Not just blokes. Both. But I wasn't exactly subtle.”

“I know, but it's not something that you can suggest politely, even if it’s true.” 

Akthar heard Lockwood flicking paper, like he was shifting though one of his paperbacks, but he didn't open his eyes. 

“What about you?”

He didn't really know how to reply. 

“I think I’m the same,” he settled on after a moment, “I haven't really had the chance to check.”

“What, with either?”

“With blokes. With girls it’s easy because there's a big chance that they could be into you. With men the chance of them being into us is less than one in a hundred. If you go to specific places where they, or we, hang out… well, those don't have the best reputation.”

“No, I suppose not. Not now.” 

Again there was the noise of papers being shuffled. Akthar buried his head into his sleeves, still in his work shirt. 

“I’m going to watch TV,” Lockwood stood, “Maybe get an early night’s sleep and catch up on the reading pile. You coming?”

“I’m going to stay here.”

On sock covered feet Lockwood walked from the bedroom and down the hall, and Akthar didn't move until he heard the soft sound of the TV wander through the flat. Then he stayed still for a little while longer, taking deep breaths in and out. 

Now, about those letters. 

Gently, as if Lockwood was just around the corner listening in, he pulled the paper free from the mattress and took them over to his desk, laying the yellowing paper out flat to get a good look at his terrible handwriting. They were all there,  _ Timms, Crowther, Posner, Scripps and Rudge. _ Finally he was safe in the knowledge that his terrible secrets from years ago were back in his possession, ready to be burned when he could eventually find his old lighter. 

“ _ What I’m saying is,”  _ Timms’ voice filtered through the phone, sounding infinitely sleepier than he ever used to, “ _ If Akthar took a hint to heart once in a while you might already have a boyfriend on your hands. I know it's not usually the woman that makes the first move, but I'm telling you, he’s not going to move if you don't force him to. He’s that kind of guy.” _

Fiona spun in the chair, curling the phone cord around her finger. “I guess so. I just don't want to intrude.”

“ _ On what? He’s got nothing going on. No roommates, no girlfriend, it’s free for the taking _ .”

“He lives with Jimmy.”

There was a pause, then laden with surprise, “ _ What? _ ”

“Jimmy moved in with him temporarily while he gets his stuff sorted out.”

“ _ That cheeky bugger! He’d told me he was back with his sister in Manchester! I can't believe this. Actually _ ,” There was silence over the line, “ _ No, now that I think about it. He was in Manchester with his sister a year ago, then with Scripps and Posner for a bit, and now here. Do you know how long he’s been here _ ?” 

“Maybe a week. I only knew about it yesterday.”

Timms hmphed. “ _ I’ll need to try and remember that. It’s starting to catch up with me - keeping up with all this moving around is hard work. _ ”

Fiona laughed, “Maybe you should stop looking for gossip fuel and actually get a job instead. And-!” She emphasised the ‘and’ to cut off Timms’ protest, “I know what you're going to say, but owning four laundromats isn't the same as actually working in them. I know you visit each of them like once a week, but you don't stay for more than twenty minutes if there isn't a problem. Isn't that right?”

Timms was quiet over the line. Fiona took it as an indication to get her own plan into action.

“You should take on ‘The Eagle’, they're looking for a new landlord, and if they get one then the staff will stay on.” 

“ _ What happened to ol’ Bill? He didn't pass away did he? _ ”

“No, he’s retiring. Set to finish up there this month, I think. If no one takes over then it’ll probably be sold. With the laundromats on top of it you might make a neat profit.” 

He was quiet for a moment, and then said, “ _ I’ll think about it _ .” 

“Please do. In the meantime I need to figure out what to do with my situation - it’s not exactly on to interrupt their little bromance.”

“ _ Maybe you should _ .”

“What do you mean?”

“ _ Interrupt them. I know this is going to sound weird, but this is important, okay? _ ” She reaffirmed him, letting him continue, “ _ Alright. You and Lockwood used to date, right? And you broke up on mutual terms since you were starting at Cluter's, so you're not opposed to the idea of being with him. _ ” He again paused to let her protest, but none came, “ _ So what I’m saying is, right, is that maybe, just maybe, you can get them both.” _

…

“Both?”

_ “Both.” _

“Like,” She sputtered over her words for a moment, “Both?”

“ _ Yeah _ .” 

With one hand pressed to her chin, she leaned forward in her chair. “You’ll need to explain this because if you're messing with me I’m not going to be happy.”

“ _ Okay, okay, so. Lockwood at university was pulling just as many blokes as he was women, right? But I noticed a theme with it, since we lived together and I sometimes saw them afterwards. The women were usually fairly tall, were bubbly but not in an idiotic kind of way, and were not to be tested, I learned that the hard way. And with men he always seemed to get with the hopeless ones, usually shorter than him, still smart and whatever, but ones that were not so good with being hit on. There was this one bloke who didn't even know he was gay until he got with Lockwood and then the next day was thanking him. It was weird. _ ” 

Fiona spun a little in her seat, thinking. “I knew he had that type for women, he dated me after all, but not the men.” She failed to mention what had happened when she bumped into him, but that was a little detail in the grand scheme of things. She then said, “What about Akthar? I hadn't considered that he might not be straight.”

“ _ See, this is the thing. I haven't got great intel on him.” _

“You sound like a shittier version of a James Bond villain.” 

_ “I’d rather sound like Q, thanks. But anyway, what I do know is that he went steady with a woman for about two years at university, but after that things get shady. He only told about his person he was dating a year into their relationship, and since then has mostly stayed quiet when everyone else talks about their other halves. I don't even know if he’s fucked yet, but let’s be honest here - he’s thirty-four. He’s probably dragged someone home from the pub, just not when any of my contacts were with him _ .”

“And your contacts are…?”

“ _ The other lads, his family, a few of his friends that he met when he moved around. That sort of thing _ .” 

“Right.”

“ _ But anyway, what I’m saying is that he’s practically a blank page right now. With a bit of digging I’m sure you can find out something. He’s a secretive bloke, though.” _

“Believe me when I say that I’m more than aware of that.” 

“ _ Anyway _ ,” Something clattered to the floor on the other end of the phone, “ _ I’ll speak to you soon. Do you want to meet for drinks tonight? It’s a Friday...” _

“I can't, I’ve got that evening class,” She lied, “But maybe Saturday. See you around. Oh, and Timms, before you go. Thank you. I’ll put some thought into what you said.”

A knock sounded through the apartment, gently at first but when it wasn't heard it got louder, making Lockwood yell, “One second!” Before he proceeded to throw the damp towel over the back of one of the dining room chairs and jogged towards the door. “One sec, one sec,” he repeated, fumbling with the keys. 

“Hel- oh.” he said when he pulled the door open.

“Hello James,” Fiona said, “I’d like a word, if that’s alright.”

“This wasn't about the other day, was it?”

“Oh, no. It’s about your flatmate. Can I come in?”

“He’s not in yet, but sure. Make yourself at home. He should be back in-”

“An hour, I know. But I need to talk to you about something in private, if you will. It’s kind of important.”

Akthar pulled his keys out of his pocket, today having the good sense to put down the tower of papers instead of wrestling them and the keys at once. Whoever claimed that Lockwood was a bad influence was a lair, as the man had already taught him enough basic skills to last a lifetime, from keeping his keys on a brightly coloured lanyard, to removing the thirty thousand keychains to make it easier to actually find the damned key he was looking for. 

He still had thirty thousand keys - for the office, the school’s safe, the other office, the flat, the flat’s windows, etcetera - but it’s the attempt that counts. 

The front door opened with a creek. 

“Hey,” he said to the figure he assumed was Lockwood on the couch, “How was your second day on the job?”

“Yeah, it was good. You don't mind me having friends over, right?”

“No, of course not, who-?” His words trailed off when he actually looked to the living room.

Fiona waved.

“Oh, um, hello, what a surprise!”

“It’s good to see you too,” She breezed through his awkwardness, ignoring the amused look that Lockwood was giving them both, “Even if we saw one another just under two hours ago,” She ended with a giggle. 

“I didn't realise you two knew one another,” Akthar said, “Outside of, you know-”

“We’ve been friends for a while, really,” Lockwood butted in, “Kind of like with me and you. Do you want to join?”

“No! I mean, no, I really have to get on with these papers, you know? If I keep on top of them they’ll just keep piling up.”

“Adil, it’s Friday. James got wine, and we both know you can't turn down a crisp white.” 

She was right, of course, but Akthar wasn't so keen to be in between the two people that made brain-functions a hell of a lot more difficult. For lack of a better option, however, he sighed, looked to the hallway, remembered the wine, and said, “Uhm. Okay, let me get out of this tie first, yeah?”

Akthar was panicking.

“And then Mr. Beedle had to learn how to type, so it wasn't just the mouse that was confusing him then, but the keyboard too. In all honesty, I’m surprised the man didn't have a heart attack at how furious he was about having to use a computer.”

Lockwood laughed, leaning back on the couch and sitting cross legged. Fiona had her ankle over her knee and seemed pleased at having an audience as she discussed her tales of woe.

“And of course he blamed it on me the whole time, not even the school board. ‘Fiona, the keyboard is broken again’, ‘Fiona, why isn't the cursor over the little bin picture?’ I tell you, it’s a good thing I’m a bit more patient than most because otherwise we wouldn't have gotten anywhere… other than a trip to the hospital, of course. He looked like he wanted to punch the thing.”

It was no easy feat, keeping himself from squirming, but luckily the attention was hardly on him, and Fiona was more or less using the time as a means of questioning Lockwood’s time in the army, in between the time that James took to ask her about her own life. 

“It’s really not that interesting,” she said when he first asked, but went on to talk about it anyway.

And now he was here, in his own living room, as two of the most attractive people he knew flirted with each other - for lack of a better word. 

However, Lockwood did sneak a glance at Akthar every so often, with a somewhat reassuring look on his face (although, what that look  _ meant _ was another debate entirely), and Fiona was encouraging him to join in on the conversation every so often, but despite this, he let her do the talking. 

And it was… nice, he supposed, just letting the conversation carry on around him, and seeing the two people he liked most interact was interesting, to say the least. 

But eventually, as the sun dipped below the buildings opposite and Akthar had to lean over to turn on the lamp on the coffee table, their casual conversation came to an end. 

“It was lovely coming over,” Fiona said as she was putting her coat on. James had gone to put something in the oven to heat up, and Akthar was holding the front door ajar.

“It was nice having you over, too,” he managed a smile that didn't look like he was in pain, “and, uh. I guess I'll be seeing you on Monday?” 

“Yes, I guess you will. Um,” she made a sound like she wanted to say something but thought better of it, but decided to go ahead with it anyway, “I know I’m a bit, I don't know how to phrase this other than ‘braver’ than you. More forward?”

Akthar didn't like the sound of that. “Uh huh?”

“Well, I can't find myself to be, at the minute. So, I'm asking you to do me a favour.”

He paused before saying, “Um. Okay? Well, it depends on what it is.”

“Talk to Lockwood.”

“What about?”

“Tonight. Or just in general. He agreed that he’d talk to you since I’m hardly a master of my words.”

“You could be worse,” he hurried to placate, “I’ve marked essays. You’re definitely better than some of them.” 

She laughed, thankfully. “Cheers for that,” she said, “but, yes. I’m off now. See you Monday.”

“See you then.”

And while she didn't hurry to leave, she didn't not hurry to leave either, which left Akthar in the doorway looking after her. Lockwood made a noise from the kitchen, like he had dropped something, and with one last look to where Fiona had gone, he closed the door and went to find James. 

He was still in the kitchen, just about to put a sheet pan of lasagne in the oven which had some tin foil over it, when Akthar appeared in the doorway. Closing the oven door, James turned to give him a one-sided smile, the corner of his mouth shadowed from the sickly white bulb above them. Before he could lose his nerve, and voice full of curiosity, Adil stated, “Fiona told me to talk to you.”

“She did, did she?” he asked and leaned against the counter, half slouched. Comfy was a good look on him, but Akthar forced himself to be restrained.

“Yeah.”

“Well, I’ll be sure to thank her for offloading it onto me,” he said with good humour. 

There was a delicate pause, hanging in between them like a low note in a song, and snapping when Lockwood sighed.

“I do have something to admit,” James said, and Akthar looked up from the peeling paint in the door frame to look at him. “It’s a bit of a delicate subject, but… you know. I need to get it off my chest somehow.”

The unease from earlier returned suddenly, and then all at once, like he had been dunked into ice water and pulled out just as quickly. Akthar swallowed around the lump in his throat and nodded, wordlessly making a motion for Lockwood to continue.

“I’m sort of interested. Well, we both are. Fiona and I.”

Adil blinked.

“Interested?”

“Uh-huh.”

“In… in what?”

A small, disbelieving smile erupted on James’ face. 

“ _ You.  _ In  _ you _ .”

“I-uh. what?”

“Fiona and I are interested. As in, we think you’re hot. And, you know, obviously, we think you’re a great bloke too. If you’re willing to have us, then, well. Fuck, this is difficult.”

Finally, the tension broke and they both took a moment to laugh lightly at Lockwood’s exclamation, their smiles lighting up the room and the noise filling the otherwise empty apartment.

“You’re killing me here, Adil,” James said, wringing the dishcloth between his hands, and Akthar couldn't help but smile slightly.

“I- uhm. Okay?”

Lockwood raised an eyebrow. “Okay?” he repeated, “I mean. If you want to say no, that’s fine. I don't want this to be, like, a forced thing-”

“No! No, I mean. Yes. Okay. I am too.” 

“You’re interested too?”

“Yeah.”

“Well,” Lockwood said, clapping his hands together, “Good. Dinner’s in the oven, and I bet Fiona is waiting to hear as well. You might want to…” 

“Call?”

He nodded, and Akthar smiled before disappearing out of the room. Lockwood leaned off the counter, smiling in Akthar’s direction and yelled, “Let her know we should meet up tomorrow!” 

After hearing an affirming noise, Lockwood leant back on the kitchen counter and sighed, pressing his hands together with a smile. 

_ Yeah _ , he thought,  _ this could work. _

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! This piece has been in development hell for a year now, and it's finally in a state where I don't cringe just looking at it. I know it's not up to my usual standard of work, but I couldn't just delete 7k of work, so... here it is, I guess. 
> 
> If, for some reason, you did like this piece, please leave a Kudos or comment! They really do mean a lot :)


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